


stuck in my head

by maxverstappens (juliansweigl)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Anxiety, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, also this is max essentially finding out about dan's move so that's fun to relive!, dumb boys in love, i promise it gets lighter, probably not lads!, sleep deprivation mentions, they have a horrible argument, this is uh angsty for a while lmao, will i ever write something that doesn’t torture either boy, yikes yikes yikes i’m so sorry about this, you're all getting a happy ending though so just hang in there guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-01-11 21:46:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18432725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliansweigl/pseuds/maxverstappens
Summary: "It's not my fault I've got the better fucking chance at getting a World Championship! They're doing the right thing."Max looks like he regrets the words the moment he says them and Daniel looks crestfallen as the words hang in the air.or, how hurtful words thrown at each other, a text, breaking news and 8,565 miles helped Max realize what he wanted.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello. hi. how you doing? it's me! back on my bullshit! writing angst because apparently that's all i can write! let's hope i can complete this before the year 2046, hmm. yes this is also v loosely based on last year and yes i'm being creative on quite a bit so ignore the inaccuracies (but lbr, we're not really focusing on f1 and these two dumbasses being dumbasses instead lmao) anyway pls be kind i'm fragile lol

_In retrospect, blowing up on Daniel the way he had after the race might not have been the smartest way to react to the retirement when Dan had finished fourth but he was furious and not about to let anybody try and talk him down from the self-induced rage that he’d entered into the moment that his engine had failed. He could barely keep it together for the press, twisting his fingers into his fireproofs, avoiding eye contact for the most part, digging his fingernails into his palm and breathing ridiculously deep breaths through his nose to swallow down the comments that he wanted to give in order not to scream and shout and blame every fucking deity to have ever existed._

 

By the time Daniel finds him, Max is exhausted, unable to keep his eyes open as he pulls at the loose thread in his t-shirt, a scowl set firmly on his lips and his jaw set as though he’s ready to knock the next person who mentions the race out. Normally, he’d be happy for Dan, wanting to be the first to celebrate with him and after a good race like this - he would be out there waiting but the engine cutting out like that, destroying every single ounce of fucking momentum that he had also took his enthusiasm with it.

 

Daniel is grinning when he finds Max, the sleeves of his fireproofs tied around his waist and his _hey_ goes unheard as Max keeps staring down at the blank screen of his phone, shoulders heaving and chest rising and falling.

 

“Hey, Max, _come on._ ” Daniel tries again, kicking out at Max’s ankle to grab his attention, “It’s a bad day, mate.”

 

 _That._ The slip of the tongue and the sympathetic comment had fallen from his teammates’ lips before Daniel could stop himself and he knew he was done for when Max’s body completely froze up and he slowly turned to look at Daniel who is already wincing and looking for a quick getaway.

 

 _If you were to ask him why he got so angry over a few words of encouragement, he couldn’t give you a coherent answer, not one._ Max replays the words in his head silently, scrutinizing Daniel wordlessly before his eyes grow wide and fury flashes through them so alarmingly fast that Daniel almost stumbles backwards at the glare, the grin falling from his face almost instantaneously.

 

“ _You_.” Max growls, throwing his phone onto the table with a loud clatter before scrambling to his feet, shaky after being sat down for a good hour and a half. “You, just, shut the fuck up, Dan.” Max huffs as he makes a move to pass Daniel but Daniel, give him his credit is just as fast as Max and curls his hand around Max’s wrist before he can.

 

Max’s breathing gets heavier, more erratic as his glare intensifies the longer that Daniel keeps a hold of his wrist. Dan’s expression is unreadable, for the most part, neutral, watching Max carefully with his eyebrow slightly raised as his fingers press against Max’s pulse. Max tries to school his expression but he’s completely aware that Daniel can feel just how _much_ his pulse is starting to race under the pressure of his fingers,

 

“Fuck. Off.” Max mutters, punctuating the words and trying to twist his hand out of Daniel’s grip but for all his effort, Daniel looks like he’s putting absolutely nothing in to keeping him exactly where he is. “Stop staring at me like that.”

 

“Stop acting like a fucking child then.” Daniel retorts with an ever-calm tone of voice. Daniel twists his fingers against Max’s wrist causing the younger to squirm but ultimately not try to pull away. “You’re going to say something to the wrong person.”

 

“Why do you care what I say to anybody?” Max challenges, “Why do _you_ give a fucking damn about me?”

 

Something unintelligible flashes through Daniel’s eyes but it’s gone before Max can even be sure it was there to begin with. The silence that falls over the pair of them is so deafening that Max feel the anger dissipating from his veins the longer that they stare at each other with unreadable expressions.

 

“Don’t you have _anything_ better to do than scold me for being pissed off about a fucking engine failure?” Max tries again, less angry, more frustrated, tired, sick of being treated like a child whenever something doesn’t fall his way - intentionally or otherwise.

 

Daniel finally lets Max’s wrist go and his arm falls limply back to his side, his other hand coming to brush against the ring of redness around there, brushing the pad of his thumb across it to soothe the slight stinging of the skin. Daniel doesn’t make any effort to leave him alone, in fact, his unwavering calmness is starting to get under Max’s skin and it takes less of a push to have him getting angrier at Daniel’s nonchalant attitude.

 

It’s like a fire, starting up and burning through him all at once, Max can’t think of anything to say so he lifts his hand and shoves at Daniel’s shoulder, not enough to even cause the Aussie to stumble but enough to grasp at a small reaction. Max isn’t even sure where is anger is coming from, the engines, his crumbling relationship with his dad, _the amount of fucking pressure on his shoulders,_ his attitude or whether it’s because Daniel won’t stop fucking staring at him like _that._

 

“You don’t know what it’s like to be me!” Max suddenly explodes, throwing his arms out wide and narrowly missing knocking a glass off the table and smacking his hand against the wall.

 

“Oh, tell me.” Daniel draws out sarcastically. “Tell me what it’s like to be the only driver the team gives a fuck about.” Daniel plasters on a sardonic smile and crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back and watches the way Max scowls. “I’m waiting.” Daniel adds, voice free of any emotion and that, that should have been the number one sign for Max.

 

“Stop enjoying this.” Max mumbles, feeling every bit of twenty years old and feeling his cheeks flush as he wills himself to calm down, his fingers flexing with the anger that’s melting so deep into his veins.

 

“Enjoying this? Jesus Christ, Max. You’re really going to stand there and tell _me_ that I’m enjoying this fucking season? That I’m enjoying being second place to you? Do you really think I don’t know about the team’s plans for you to be the youngest world champion and how they’re just expecting me to sit back and _let it happen?_ ”

 

It isn’t exactly what Max was referring to but hearing the words, hearing every single bottled up thought thrums against Max’s eardrums like a beat at a concert, but ten times, fifty times more unpleasant. Max swallows thickly,

 

 _Youngest World Champion. Second place. To you, him, Daniel essentially being forced to cater for Max_. Fuck. The blurry line between them showing the cracks that are beginning to form within the team, within their friendship all seem so clear now and Max doesn’t know whether he wants to scream, laugh or run away from it all.

 

“Well, what are you complaining to me for?”

 

Daniel rolls his eyes at the question. “Good question. I don’t have a fucking clue.”

 

“It’s not my fault I’ve got the better fucking chance at getting a World Championship! They’re doing the right thing.”

 

Max looks like he regrets the words the moment he says them and Daniel looks crestfallen as the words hang in the air but he storms past Max before the younger can even offer up a measly apology, barging unapologetically into his shoulder and leaving Max alone.

 

***

 

Daniel and Max have fought before, of course they have, it comes with the job but their fights have been resolved in minutes, sometimes hours and they’re back to their version of normal before they know it but _this_ , the aftermath of the race on Sunday is festering between the pair of them and both are too stubborn to be the first one to apologise. Neither wanting to be the first one to admit they were in the wrong and said some things that normally wouldn’t have seen the light of day.  Their summer break started two days ago but Max is still lounging about in his apartment in Monaco, not wanting to leave to go and see his family, too distracted by the weekend.

 

Distracted by his phone, silently cursing the fact that Daniel hasn’t even tried to talk to him since he left him alone on Sunday, Max isn’t even sure if he’s left for Australia yet.

 

Max regrets what he said, he regretted them the second that he said them but by the time he let his brain catch up to the realisation of what he’d said and the crestfallen expression that had completely covered Dan’s face - Dan was gone and Max didn’t have the heart to race after him and throw a number of breathless apologies towards him. Max tosses his phone to the opposite end of the couch and sighs, turning his head towards the TV and Netflix that is showing something that he hasn’t been watching for hours and is just using as background noise right now, to keep himself from overthinking everything. To dwell on words that he can’t take back.

 

His phone chimes with the sound of a text and Max all but scrambles to retrieve it, an overwhelming sense of anxiety and nausea shooting through his entire body as he turns it on, half-expecting to find that Dan’s caved first and he wants to talk but all that’s there is a message from Victoria, asking him when he’s coming home and why he’s fallen off the grid for the last couple of days.

 

Max sighs, figuring that there’s no point putting off the inevitable any longer, he texts back Victoria one word. _Tomorrow_. Max knows there’s no way he can stick around here any longer, not when he spies one of Daniel’s hoodies poking out from under the coffee table, he needs a change of scenery and that’s exactly what he’s going to go and get. Max locks his phone once more and slides it onto the coffee table, rubbing his hands over his face and sighing before standing up and deciding to get a headstart on packing, and if he swipes Dan’s hoodie up from the floor and folds it into the bottom of his suitcase - only he has to know.

 

Victoria stares at him when he gets back home, studying Max carefully as his mum fusses over him and helps him to see that just maybe, he wasted a couple of days hanging around Monaco for a peace offering that was never going to magically appear without an apology. Max ignores the cold look that Victoria is sending him from across the room for nearly two hours until he’s cornered in the kitchen,

 

“So… who did you manage to piss off this time?” Victoria asks casually, twirling her fingers around the chain of the necklace she’s wearing as she glances up at Max, lips pursed to hide the fact she wants to smile _so badly._ “Don’t give me that look, you only ignore everybody when you know you’ve done something wrong. You did it as a kid too, ask mum.”

 

“I’m not doing that.” Max’s voice cuts in,

 

“Tell me then.” Victoria pushes, dropping her chin onto her hands as she perches her elbows onto the counter and slips into one of the chairs.

 

Max frowns, his hand automatically reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone and glance down at the thirteen messages he’s yet to respond to but no more, not a message from the one person he wants to see a message from. Tapping his fingers against the counter, Max sighs and feels his resolve melting.

 

“... Dan.”

 

Victoria laughs before smacking her hand over her mouth to stop herself. “Sorry, what did you do?”

 

Max has the audacity to look offended but a swift glance and a _don’t even try to place the blame on him_ look from his sister has Max sighing once more and twisting his fingers as he presses the pads into the counter until the tips of his fingers turn white.

 

 _It’s not my fault I’ve got the better fucking chance at getting a World Championship._ The words ring around in Max’s head on a continuous loop, battering against his skull and causing his brain to hurt at how quickly and absentmindedly he let the words slip, the look on Dan’s face that followed, how aerated at himself that Max felt in the passing seconds, minutes, _days._

 

“I just said something, heat of the moment, he’s pissed off.” Max explains with an airy wave of his hand hoping Victoria will drop it.

 

She doesn’t. “Uh huh.” She grins up at Max. “That’s what I’m counting on.” She teases, “what did you say?”

 

Max shakes his head. “I was - uh - just went looking for an argument and I got it.” Max rushes out in one breath, lifting his hand to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck. “You know me, I’ve got too much pride to apologise first.”

 

Victoria narrows her eyes, clearly not believing a word that’s coming from her brother but she doesn’t force it, she just presses her tongue against her cheek and watches the way that Max is actively avoiding her eyes. Victoria nods,

 

“Okay. So what are your plans whilst you’re back?” She asks, swiftly changing the subject and letting Max off the hook for now.

 

***

 

Max turns his phone off the first evening back home, when he’s lying in bed feeling his eyelids starting to droop and the exhaustion in his bones, though forcing himself to stay awake just on the off chance that his phone chimes with a text. It never comes though and Max finally accepts that he needs a break from all things racing, grasping blindly for his phone and switching it off without a second thought, tossing it aside and turning over to face the window where the moonlight is seeping in through the slits in the blinds.

 

He tosses and turns for hours, his arms pressed against the mattress under the two pillows that his head is resting on but sleep continues to elude him despite the late hour or early hour of the morning that it _must_ be.

 

Max groans and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and the different shaped shadows that move around with the ever-changing position of the moon and streetlights outside. It’s unnerving how settled everything around him feels but he’s struggling to deal with the lack of normalcy that’s taking over his days and nights because of a poorly constructed, _thoughtless_ response to something that in all honesty probably didn’t need a reply, just an acceptance of. Max winces when he closes his eyes and all he can fucking see is the defeated, _shattered_ look on Dan’s faceat the words. It’s as though his subconscious is punishing him, repeatedly, constantly, whittling him down until he caves completely and just apologises and he really wants to.

 

He stares at his phone through the darkness of the room and his fingers bend as he lifts his arm in an attempt to grab it but ultimately his arm falls back to his side and he screws his eyes shut, _no,_ he’s not letting this eat at him, this time is supposed to forget about every single stress that is weighing him down.

 

In the end, Max manages to keep his phone switched off for five days, and he spends the time falling back into a routine that is a thousand worlds away from high, fast-paced races and responsibilities mixed with avoiding thinking about just how _much_ he misses Daniel, misses talking to him every day, misses having Dan cheering him up, the constant reminders that they’ll be back together soon that are paired alongside a wink and a crude comment that causes the blood to rush to Max’s face.

 

He spends time with his old friends and feels like every normal twenty year old, he still resists Victoria’s obvious attempts to get him to spill whatever went down between him and Dan after Hungary but Max is remaining tight-lipped, the guilt continuing to eat at him as he thinks about what Daniel must think of him.

 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Sophie asks him, Wednesday evening and the sun still shining outside and into the kitchen where Max is helping her clear the dishes. “You’ve been quiet for the last few days.” She acknowledges in only the way a mother knows how to, watching the way Max shakes his head.

 

“I’m fine, mum.” He forces out with more energy than he has.

 

Sophie hums but clearly isn’t buying it. She abandons the dishes and turns around to Max, narrowing her eyes before cupping Max’s face and examines Max with a seriousness to her that Max figures he has no chance of hiding from. He just smiles at her,

 

“It’s Daniel.” She says,

 

Max doesn’t correct her, deny her, not when the glimmer in her eyes tells her that she’s right. Sophie lets her hands fall and waits patiently for Max to start talking, turning back around and continuing with the dishes whilst humming a familiar tune quietly, a song that she used to sing to Max when he was upset as a child,

 

“I was mad after the race.” Max speaks after fighting the inner battle and letting the fact he needs to complain about this to somebody win over his pride for _once_ in his life.

 

Sophie stops and turns back around, drying her hands and signalling for Max to continue on.

 

“Dan was just in too good of a mood and I was annoyed that he did so well but I _wasn’t_ \- I’m happy for him, I _always_ am, fuck-”

 

Sophie sends Max a pointed glance and Max mutters out an apology for swearing under his breath.

 

“- I was just frustrated and looking for an argument and-” _It’s not my fault I’ve got the better fucking chance at getting a World Championship._ “- I said a lot that I didn’t mean, I know he’s not happy that the team are prioritising me and I - uh - I _might have_ told him it’s because I had the better shot of being World Champion than him?” Max tries to feign innocence, almost shying away from the blank expression on his mum’s face. “I know I was wrong to, okay?!” Max exclaims, hitting his hand against the kitchen counter. “I didn’t mean - I meant it at the time but I regretted it immediately.”

 

Max shies away as though he’s suddenly a kid again having been sent home from school in the middle of the day for causing trouble as is having to accept a verbal beating from both his parents for his behaviour before usually ending up with being grounded - he wonders whether his mum would try to ground him now - actually, he doesn’t want to know the answer to that.

 

Slumping down in one of the chairs, Max heaves a dramatic sigh. “I don’t know why I’m bothered anyway, he’s still pissed off.”

 

“If you’ve apologised, it’s up to him, honey.” Sophie, ever the diplomatic voice in the room, says but tilts her head to the side when she notices the sharp intake of breath that Max takes. “Oh, honey, you _have_ apologised, haven’t you?”

 

Max’s silence is the only answer that’s needed. He resists the urge only barely to roll his eyes at the condescending tone to his mum’s voice and tries to come up with a valid reason as to why it’s taken him over a week to apologise. Sophie glares at him until he pushes himself up and holds his hands up defensively as if to say _I’m going._

 

Max sits on the edge of his bed and reaches for his phone, shivering slightly at how cold it is due it being untouched for so long, the screen has a light covering of dust that Max wipes off with the sleeve of his - _Dan’s_ hoodie that he subconsciously threw on sometime in the late afternoon. Max tries not to think about the irony or the way that the hoodie feels ridiculously soft against his hands as the sleeves flop over his palms to his fingers as he waits for his phone to turn on.

 

Max places his phone aside as he waits for it to stop chiming with all the notifications that are flying in from different apps as well as all the text messages that he’s deliberately neglected, not getting his hopes up for a message from Daniel. Max drags the hoodie sleeves over his hands completely and rubs his thumbs over the cuffs of the garment, Max remembers the last time he saw Daniel wearing this - after they came home from Silverstone and Daniel made it his mission to cheer Max up after his retirement. Max wonders whether they would have had another day like that after the retirement in Hungary instead of _this fuckery._ Max scratches at the stain on the sleeve that he hadn’t initially noticed at first, and remembers exactly where it came from - the pizza that had somehow ended up more over them than they had eaten.

 

He remembers Dan’s lips brushing against his cheek after he’d pulled the hoodie off and dropped it haphazardly to the floor of Max’s apartment - only grinning when Max had glared at him and asked him if he was _seriously_ going to leave it there. Max feels the heat rushing to his face as he remembers how flustered he’d got by a simple kiss to the cheek, something that isn’t too far from unusual for the both of them. Tugging at the collar of the hoodie, Max feels like his skin is on fire as he thinks about his teammate, thinks about how all the tension was going to explode eventually - whether they actually had it out and argued or the less likely but Max’s preferred, Daniel shoving him up against the nearest wall and kissing him senseless.

 

Max coughs, spluttering when he thinks about it. He hasn’t had a thought like that for a while, and now is _not_ the right time to revisit his pitiful, childish crush on the guy who refuses to even acknowledge his existence right now. Shoving _those_ feelings all the way back down where they belong, Max pulls the sleeves up to his elbows and turns his attention back to his phone which is still vibrating and chiming away with hundreds of notifications.

 

It takes a while for all the notifications to finish loading up and _Jesus,_ he has so many notifications to go through - along with quite a few missed calls from team bosses that he probably should sort out first, he can only imagine what they have had to say to him and that itself is too much for him to deal with now. He opens his messages and scrolls through the numerous messages from friends and family, only catching a glimpse of what most of them say, managing to make out a word or two - the mixture of languages causing him to feel nauseous as he scrolls quickly until he reaches the thread with Daniel and notices a message from two days ago. Three words, not exactly the three words Max wants to see but it’s something at least, pressing on the thread; Max lets his gaze roll over the three words in the white bubble that are staring back at him.

 

**[Daniel Ricciardo]**

 

_Can we talk?_

 

Suddenly, the artificial confidence that had been running through Max's veins runs completely dry and he can only lock his phone and toss it aside, an apology can wait another day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr!](https://hoewedeshummels.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello :’)) thank u to everybody who commented on the first chapter bc it meant a lot!! i’m just sorry this chapter is terrible (jk-ish i just kinda hate it). anyway it’s 7:14am and i’m still sleepy but i wanted to post this chapter early bc i don’t know if i’ll have time to post it later on. anyway, this chapter gets kind of dark towards the end and i’m sorry??? there’s mentions of a panic attack(ish) so if you read, please read with caution because i know how much these things can affect somebody! anyway! gotta dash! have a nice easter :’) (also i have not edited this lmao as usual, i’ll do it when i’m more awake - if i remember)

**[Daniel Ricciardo]**

 

_ Can we talk? _

 

The text stares at him mockingly for the next few hours, Max’s head is lolling left and right as he struggles to stay awake, the white 4:02 staring back at him signalling it’s time to go to bed but his thumbs still hover over the keyboard as he tries to decipher if there’s a meaning behind Dan’s words.  _ Can we talk?  _ Talk about fucking what, talk about their fight, talk about the weather in Australia, just wanting a general catch up over how the first week of their break has been?

 

Max is almost completely distracted that he doesn’t notice the three dots appear on the screen, but, when he does - his entire body freezes and he just stares down at the screen with bated breath as the three dots continue to appear - Max wonders whether this is a good thing or whether throwing his phone out of the window is a better option than just sitting for a message that in all honesty be  _ fuck you. _ Max stares at the screen for minutes until the three dots eventually disappear but no message arrives, not after five minutes, not ten, not even twenty - and by that point, Max can barely keep his eyes open for longer than a couple of seconds at a time. 

 

The sun is rising outside of Max’s window by the time he finally succumbs to sleep and slumps against the number of pillows on his bed, fingers still holding a death grip on the corner of his phone as he does so. 

 

It’s a little after midday when Max finally drags himself out of bed and downstairs, rubbing the remains of sleep out of his eyes, t-shirt twisted and wrinkled, pulled at the collar and he misses the last two steps and stumbles into the hallway and the mantelpiece up against the wall. 

 

“He’s awake!” Victoria sings from nearby, followed by a snicker from his mum as Max scowls and rubs his knee from where he clattered into the mantelpiece. “Good afternoon,” she smirks, lifting her coffee cup to her lips when Max appears in the doorway of the kitchen. 

 

Max humphs but doesn’t offer anything else up in greeting as he rounds the counter and slides into the empty seat beside Victoria. 

 

“You don’t look well, honey.” Sophie frowns as she leans in closer to inspect just how pale and sullen Max looks,

 

“Oh, he doesn’t,  _ does he? _ ” Victoria chimes in with a sarcastic smile as she leans in and slaps the back of her hand against Max’s forehead. 

 

Max bats her hand away. “Do  _ you  _ mind?” He asks, holding his hand up with a stern expression on her face when Victoria goes to place her hand back.

 

“Oh, it’s  _ so nice  _ to have you both back home.” Sophie comments and neither Max nor Victoria pick up on how her words drip with badly hidden sarcasm. “I’m going out, I expect you two to… not kill each other.” 

 

_ “Mother. _ ” Victoria and Max draw out in the same over-exaggerated, sickly sweet, innocent tone of voice.

 

Sophie just rolls her eyes and rounds the counter to kiss both of their cheeks before announcing she’ll be home sometime in the early evening and that she expects the house to still be standing when she does so. Max drops his head to the counter, allowing the cool marble to ease the budding headache that’s beginning to form at the base of his skull. Victoria stares outside towards the hallway and waits until the front door has opened and shut before she turns around and kicks her sneaker-clad foot against Max’s shin causing him to jolt upright in an instant with a glimmer in his eyes similar to that of  _ if looks could kill. _

 

“What’s up with you?” Victoria asks, twisting the ring on her finger. “Hey, come on.” Victoria punches Max’s shoulder. “I’m sure whatever you did isn’t as bad as you’re making out.”

 

Max makes a strangled noise in response, sounding somewhere between a lawnmower malfunctioning and a cat dying - so you know, a natural sound for a twenty year old regretting most of his life choices for approximately the last week. Max glances up at his sister and notices the patient expression on her face,  _ Jesus,  _ she’s got all day for this and Max knows it. 

 

“I’m going to shower-”

 

“- Then you’re going to tell me what you’re so hellbent on hiding from me?” Victoria interjects as she watches Max stand up and head towards the kitchen door. 

 

Max stops at the doorway and shrugs. “Guess so.” He mumbles before walking out and jogging upstairs. 

 

Max takes the best part of forty minutes in the shower but it’s mostly to just avoid the inevitable. The worst part is that when it comes to Victoria - Max might as well be transparent because she can see through even his best lies and he doesn’t think he has enough time to come up with anything realistically convincing. 

 

An hour later, Max finally makes his way downstairs and jumps over the back of the couch to settle in the corner and swipe the remote control up from the middle of the couch and change the channel earning an indignant huff and a kick to the thigh from Victoria. 

 

“I was watching that!”

 

Max raises his eyebrows as he flicks through the different channels trying to find something to watch. 

 

“If you can tell me the name of what you were watching; I’ll turn it back on.” Max challenges as he glances over to her, 

 

“Shut up.” Victoria mutters, “so, spill. What’s going on with you?” 

 

The groan that falls from Max’s lips is loud enough to shake the foundations of the house as he throws his head back to the top of the couch and stares up at the ceiling. 

 

Max checked his phone after his shower and still found the text there, staring at him, judging him for not replying yet - he isn’t completely sure what’s gotten him so worried, it wouldn’t be the first time that he’s had to grovel and admit he was in the wrong and at least Dan was the first to cave out of the both of them like he had expected. It’s a catch-22 situation and Max can feel a migraine starting to build at the back of his head just thinking about the fallout of all of this, every single worst case scenario is flying through his head at such a speed that he can’t keep up and decide which would be the worst thing to come from  _ any  _ of this. 

 

“Oh  _ come on;  _ it can’t be that bad.” Victoria pushes, digging her foot into Max’s ribs, “What? Did you tell him you didn’t want to be teammates anymore?” She snorts out the suggestion with a light bout of laughter that comes to an abrupt stop when Max winces. “Oh, tell me you didn’t-”

 

Max stares straight ahead, pursing his lips before shrugging nonchalantly. “Not in  _ so  _ many words.” 

 

“Explain.” Victoria deadpans. 

 

_ It’s not my fault I’ve got the better fucking chance at getting a World Championship.  _

 

Max doesn’t answer. Victoria takes the hint and grins a smug grin as she thinks about how she’s going to phrase her next words. 

 

“If you don’t want to tell me about  _ that _ how about you tell me about the hopeless crush you have on him instead.” The smirk is evident in her voice, 

 

Max’s head snaps up and he turns to glare at his sister. “ _ Vic _ … don’t.” Max warns but he’s not as convincing as he wants to be. 

 

That doesn’t deter her though and her smirk grows. The resignation starts to pull at Max’s face and he can practically feel the heat starting to rise up his neck to his cheeks in one swift rush as he trains his line of sight to the TV and forces himself to watch what is currently playing. The tips of Max’s ears are turning red by the time he turns back around with a scowl twitching at the corners of his lips. 

 

“When did you figure it out?” 

 

Victoria just tilts her head to the side and places the pad of her index finger against her chin as she pretends to think about it for a moment - simultaneously frustrating and terrifying Max when she breaks out into a grin, looking awfully smug about things. 

 

“Oh,  _ god,  _ where do you want me to start? The obvious heart eyes? The Instagram notifications? The fact that you talk to him  _ every single day,  _ or the fact that the first time we hung out when you came home for Christmas last year, you and I quote, said,  _ I wish Dan was here. _ ” Victoria lists off, counting up on her fingers. “There’s more if you want-”

 

Max throws a cushion at her face. Victoria’s laughter rings around the living room as she clutches the cushion to her chest and watches the resignation on Max’s face contort into misery and embarrassment at having been less than subtle when it came down to it. 

 

“You haven’t denied it.” She points out when it’s clear that Max isn’t going to say anything in response to that. “So…” 

 

“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?” 

 

“Pretty much.” Vic grins, leaning forward with her chin on her hands as she patiently waits for the damning admission of truth. 

 

Max mutters a string of swear words before snapping his head sideways and glaring at his sister. “I - I’m not doing it.” 

 

_ “Max! _ ” Victoria yells and unforgivingly slaps his shoulder but she’s laughing at his expense, trying so hard to resist the urge to poke at Max’s cheeks which are steadily turning redder by the second. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, I like him, so what?” 

 

Victoria tries to hide her snort behind the cushion in front of her face but it’s to no use and she abruptly bursts into a bout of laughter just seconds later. 

 

“Well,  _ Jesus,  _ you could sound a little more enthusiastic about it!” 

 

Max makes a point of hardening his glare and deliberately not coming up with any kind of verbal response to that. It should feel freeing, an overwhelming sense of relief, the tension lifting from his shoulders from an admission  _ or  _ in Max’s case a pretty easy guess from situational evidence. Instead, it feels ten times worse and Max feels sick at the thought of somebody knowing. 

 

“You know it’s okay, right? That you like him?” Victoria tries, figuring it’s better to take another approach to this, a gentler approach - similar to that of approaching an animal in the wild without spooking it. 

 

Max snorts derisively and let’s his gaze flicker around the living room before he settles and feels a headache beginning to bud at the base of his skull. “Nothing about this is okay, Vic.” And then he’s laughing, and it’s sad and it’s bitter and Max realises he must be painting a pretty pitiful picture at the moment. 

 

_ “Oh my god. _ ” Victoria draws out the words slowly, rolling her eyes at her brother. “Stop being so melodramatic!” She scolds and swipes at Max’s shoulder with the cushion in her hand. 

 

Max just huffs and changes the TV channel. 

 

*** 

 

It takes a full day of unrelenting teasing for Max to finally snap, and he does, 

 

“I fucked up!” Max growls, 

 

It’s a little after nine and the sun is only just starting to show signs of going down and Max cuts a threatening figure in the shadows of the house and the ever-decreasing daylight. Victoria glances up from her phone, the smug grin that had been there just seconds beforehand is non-existent anymore and she’s staring up at her brother with confusion evident and a small frown tugging at the corners of her lips. 

 

“You’re going to have to be more specific.” 

 

Max rolls his eyes. “You -  _ okay  _ \- remember when you wanted to -  _ fuck _ \- I was pissed off after the race and Dan told me I was being childish so I decided to run with it, you know? He’s frustrated that the team are putting me first and  _ well… _ ” Max trails off, lifting his hand to scratch at the back of his neck and avoid eye contact as the words swim around in his head, almost like a tannoy, tinny and blaring the words so loud that Max’s throat tightens as the words sit on the tip of his tongue. 

 

“Oh, god, what did  _ you  _ say?” Victoria asks with a wince, unsure over whether she actually wants to hear it or not.

 

“... I told them they were right to, which I know was stupid!” Max exclaims, determined to prove that he’s not as brash as his actions may have painted him to be. 

 

“Well, that’s something.” Victoria muses, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “at least you know you’re a dumbass… I’m guessing he didn’t take it well?”

 

“He looked like I just run over his puppy.” Max puffs out in one breath, “he didn’t even say anything, I don’t even blame him, he just left.” 

 

Victoria resists the urge to face palm and focused on whether there is a silver lining to all of this but she draws blank after blank. 

 

“What is wrong with you?”

 

“I  _ know! _ ” Max groans as he rubs his hands over his face and stares up at the sky, silently wondering whether the ground will just open up and swallow him completely. “He text me the other day, I don’t know what to do about it though.”

 

“Call me old-fashioned-” Victoria starts and Max resists the urge to remind her that she’s actually younger than him “- but most people would actually start by replying to a text they receive,  _ hey,  _ if he’s still willing to talk to you after what happened, I’d count it as a win even if you’re an idiot.  _ Oh _ also start by apologising.” 

 

Max rolls his eyes. “Really? I never would have guessed.” 

 

“Don’t get smart with me, I’m not the one who got you in this position in the first place.” Victoria chides and makes a ticking off motion with her hands to emphasise her point, not that it needed it. 

 

Max holds his hands up and mutters out a half-hearted apology, just when Victoria opens her mouth to say something else - Max’s phone starts ringing in his pocket and he scrambles to retrieve it from his back pocket, frowning down at Carlos’ name flashing across the screen - 

 

“Anybody important?” Victoria noses because she can, 

 

Max rejects the call and shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll call him back later.” 

 

Victoria looks unconvinced but she doesn’t push the subject, she just swings back on the chair she’s sitting on and watches Max, watches him go through a multitude of emotions within the space of a couple of minutes.

 

“Go and talk to him.” She pushes, glancing down at the too tight of a grip he has on his phone “you’re just scared he’ll yell at you.” She teases, watching the way Max scowls. 

 

“M’not scared.” Max huffs, looking very much younger than his twenty years. 

 

“You don’t have to talk about that, you can just admit that you draw your names together in a heart shape-”

 

_ “Vic! _ ” Max shrieks, cheeks instantly turning the brightest shade of red humanly possible. “God, you’re actually the worst.”

 

“Am I wrong though?” She questions,

 

_ “Obviously. _ ” Max draws our slowly, lips quirking downwards towards a small frown, “Do I look like a child?”

 

Victoria grins, “ _ oh, trust me,  _ you  _ really  _ don’t want me to answer that question after what I’ve heard tonight.” 

 

Max, already retreating back towards the house makes a strangled noise of agreement and figures she’s probably right too. 

 

**[Daniel Ricciardo]**

 

_ Can we talk? _

 

_ Yeah. No. What do you want to talk about? Are you still pissed?  _

 

Max types and retypes a reply to Dan’s message for nearly thirty minutes, each time his throat begins to tighten that much more as his fingers fly over the keyboard as more mundane, greeting card-esque replies come to mind but they all read just as awkward as Max feels. He deletes his last attempt at sounding relatively normal and tosses his phone to the end of the bed with a loud groan as he throws himself back and pulls the blankets up over his head. 

 

He’s never been scared to talk to him, not even after he fucked up during a race and had to deal with a still pissed off Dan who was in no mood to be charitable to Max’s excuses but he’s still managed to get the words out - choked as they might have been but he’s still managed to not close up completely and just hope that things work out with just one-sided effort. 

 

Refusing to give up, Max throws the blankets off him with more force than is completely necessary and blindly grasps for the corner of his phone and stares at the screen, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes as the words on the screen become blurry of sorts. 

 

Max’s fingers fly over the keyboard once more, typing out random words, typos and all are gracing the screen once he stops typing, freezes completely. 

 

“This is pointless.” He mutters into the darkness of his bedroom and locks his phone, tucking it under his pillow like he used to as a child when he was texting his friends and playing games instead of sleeping. 

 

Max lies down, glances up at the ceiling and sighs, frowning once more as he tosses and turns and tries to get comfortable, he kicks the blankets off and pulls them back on a few seconds later. He pulls his phone back out and reads through his notifications - he doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He tucks it away once more and lies on his side, staring over at his bedroom wall - most of the many pictures and posters have been taken down now and his walls are a boring white colour and his blinds are no longer in the best condition and seep the light from the streetlights inside his room through the slits. 

 

It’s nearly five in the morning when he finally succumbs to sleep. 

 

***

 

“I think it’s a good idea.” Victoria chimes in, effectively shutting up her mum and Max who are talking over the other. “He’s reverted back to acting like a kid since he’s been here anyway.” She teases, sticking her tongue out in Max’s direction but her eyes show a flash of genuine concern for her brother - something Max immediately picks up on. “So what? He wants to go back to Monaco, let him.”

 

Max looks visibly relieved at his sister’s words and glances cautiously back to his mum to see if she’s relenting - she is. 

 

“I just need to get back into a routine.” Max cuts through the silence, it’s bullshit, he’s going back to wallow in self pity and hide away like the child he is. “I’m going to leave later, I think.” 

 

Victoria sends him a reassuring smile from across the kitchen as Sophie sighs, not choosing to argue with the matter any longer. 

 

It’s a little after ten at night when Max finally throws open the door to his apartment and breathes out a shuddery sigh of relief. He pulls his bags through the door and leaves them in the hallway as he kicks the door shut with his heel and makes his way through the apartment until he can faceplant the couch and muffle a loud string of swear words into one of the cushions. 

 

He’s exhausted, that’s for sure, he can barely bring himself to move from the couch to the bedroom so he can try and get a half decent sleep. Instead, he manages to shuffle around until he can pull his phone out of his pocket and turn it back on, he waits for it to load for a few minutes and for all the notifications to start rolling in. Max yawns and rubs the sleeve of - Dan’s - hoodie over his cheeks and tries not to blush at the sheer fact of the matter as he absentmindedly reads through some texts before moving to his Instagram. It’s only when he stupidly decides to read through some news does he see  _ it.  _ He sees the floods of headlines that instantly give him a migraine and have the overwhelming feeling of nausea settle uncomfortably in his stomach. 

 

**Daniel Ricciardo to make Renault switch from Red Bull for 2019** **  
****  
****Official: Ricciardo moves to Renault for 2019** **  
****  
** **Ricciardo to join Hulkenberg at Renault for 2019**

 

Max doesn’t even react when his phone clatters to the floor and emits a shattering sound that should be enough to cause him to flinch. There’s a loud ringing and thumping in his ears as he feels his hands and fingers shake violently as the headlines he’s just seen run through his head on a continuous loop, enough for a strong cry to tear from his throat as he jolts forward, his hands flying to his head as he tries to block out the hollow echoing. 

 

The room starts spinning and the walls start shaking and closing in on Max as he snaps his head upwards with blurred vision as he gasps to get the air back into his lungs. He falls to his knees and grasps at the coffee table, knocking his knuckles against the edge multiple times eliciting a hiss from Max as he finally gets a good grip and a sob shreds from his throat. Breathing gets harder, despite how much he gasps and how deeply he tries to suck in a breath - not enough air manages to reach his lungs as he cries out, smacking his head against the flat cool tabletop and feels like somebody is punching him repeatedly in the stomach. 

 

Another sob rips from deep in his throat as all that goes through his head is  _ Dan. Dan. Dan. Dan.  _ _ It’s not my fault I’ve got the better fucking chance at getting a World Championship. You’re leaving me. Why the fuck are you leaving me?! _ He’s being completely irrational and can’t think straight as the familiar burn of panic starts rising in his throat causing Max to wheeze and screw his hands into the sleeves of Dan’s hoodie, the irony being lost on him in the moment as he slams his hand against the coffee table, 

 

“What the  _ fuck?! _ ” He shouts to nobody in-particular, the thought of receiving noise complaints not occurring to him as he feels his throat tighten and his heart starting to beat, ten, twenty times faster. “ _ Fuck. _ ” He mutters half-heartedly, throwing himself back against the couch and curling into himself, holding his knees to his chest with as much strength as he can muster. 

 

Max feels sick. He feels the nausea rising from his stomach to his throat and before he’s even registered what’s happening, he’s scrambling to his feet and stumbling to the bathroom and throwing up every last part of his stomach contents, his throat raw and aching as he slumps against the wall. His sobs have turned to sniffling and feeling his eyes well up, but he can’t cry, he doesn’t have the energy to even allow himself to shred any emotion anymore.

 

His body aches, his hands are still shaking as he brushes his thumb over the material of Dan’s hoodie. 

 

_ Daniel.  _

 

Max pushes himself back to his feet and forces himself to walk back to the living room, grabbing at any surface as he passes, trying to keep himself steady as he grabs his phone and falls to his knees, finding Dan’s name - his body working on autopilot - as he calls the number and weakly holds the phone to his ear. 

 

“Answer the fucking phone.” Max growls as the phone continues to ring,

 

Max is just about to give up when there’s a crackling and shuffling sound on the other end of the line.

 

“Daniel!”

 

“Jesus Christ, Max.” Daniel huffs on the other end of the line, “what time is it-? Max, it’s three in the fucking morning.”

 

“You’re leaving.” Max deadpans, the words spat down the phone. “What the fuck, Dan?!”

 

Daniel puffs out an exhausted breath on the other line. “Max,  _ Max,  _ it’s three in the morning. I’m not talking about this with you now. I’ll call you later, or, tomorrow I guess?”

 

“Dan-”

 

“I’m sorry-” Daniel cuts through, his voice raw and there’s a hint of something indistinguishable in his tone.

 

Before Max can even question him on it, the call falls dead and Max launches his phone across the room without second thought, not flinching when he hears a distinguishable shattering sound - all he hears is the thrumming in his ears and the words he regrets saying in the first place swirl around his skull mocking him, the guilt seeping in until Max can no longer hide away from it.

 

He stares at the broken remains of his phone underneath the cabinet by the TV, he thinks he should go and grab it, examine the damage and see if it’s just the screen that’s cracked but he can’t move. His back is pressed up against the couch and his arms are slowly curling around his knees. He pulls a face when he feels the dried tear tracks on his cheeks and glances over to the bathroom, figuring he should go and brush his teeth but he doesn’t have the energy. He’s never felt like this, his heart feels as though it’s been yanked from his chest and stomped on right in front of his eyes and he tries not to laugh at the sadistic thoughts that are swimming around his head as the minutes tick by. 

 

He watches the sun come up, rising over the Monaco skyline through his eyes that are barely staying open and stinging from the exhaustion but he stays, wrapped up in Dan’s hoodie and realises that he’s losing his best friend. 

 

“M’sorry.” He mumbles to his empty apartment, hating the way that whenever his eyes settle on something he’s transported back to a day over the last year and a half when Daniel was here, when they were hanging out. 

 

He thinks about all the times he’s managed to fall asleep on Dan, how his closet suddenly expanded in size from all the hoodies that Max took from Daniel and claimed not to know the whereabouts of. He thinks about the terrible Netflix series’ they’ve sat through for the sake of  _ come on, it’ll give us a sense of accomplishment if we complete it.  _ Max can feel the thumping in his ears again and his migraine is well and truly hurting Max to the point where he just wants to cry based upon that. 

 

Everything’s a mess and he has  _ no  _ idea how to fix it. That’s the one thing he’s sure of when he manages to fall asleep, curled up awkwardly on the floor with his neck stretched back against the couch. His phone rings just as sleep overtakes him and the call from Daniel goes unanswered. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my defence... the fact this has taken a month? give or take is because i am useless at updating stuff... also this chapter was a bitch to write and it's bad, like super bad guys! it's such a mess and well, you thought the first two were angsty - well, get ready for chapter 3 lmao i'm sorry please don't hate me :( there's only two more angsty-ish chapters left before things get better so nearly there ok! i'm sorry idk what i'm saying it's early and i've had a bad weekend with no sleep and a complete misunderstanding with my friends and that sucks, anyway! enjoy (if u can) (but the fact it took so long means it's the longest chapter so far... idk if that's a good thing or not though)

It’s a little after eleven when Max wakes up with a violent urge to puke up whatever remains in his stomach, and an extremely uncomfortable crick in his neck as he slowly pulls himself up and looks around the room, disorientated and rubbing the remains of sleep out of his eyes. He blinks and his eyelids feel heavy as he waits for the events of the night before to come flooding back to him in a horrific haze that has him feeling light-headed.

 

His head is pounding and Max lifts a hand to press against the side of head to try and squash the pain away as he staggers sleepily through the living room and swipes his phone up from the floor, the screen is smashed beyond repair but it’s through the cracks that Max sees Daniel’s name and the nine missed calls that are listed after it, a few text messages and three voicemails. That’s when it all comes flooding back and Max can barely suppress the sob that’s rising in his throat as he slowly slides down until he’s sitting on the floor cradling his phone in his hand and dragging his thumb across the screen, scratching the pad against the broken shards.

 

**[Daniel Ricciardo]**

 

 _Max_  
_I’m sorry ok_ _  
I didn’t want you to find out like this._

Blinking, his eyes scan over the final message - from a little over twenty minutes ago. A vicious laugh rises in Max’s throat but he can’t bring himself to find anything about the last twenty four hours to be any kind of amusing. Still, he can’t help but hate the way he overreacted, _Jesus,_ he can only imagine how guilty Dan must feel - Max waking him up in the middle of the night, realising that he’s found out and Dan hasn’t been the one to tell him -

 

_Maybe, he should’ve tried harder to get me to talk to him-_

 

Max sighs, locking his phone and setting it aside as he stares at the TV, he can see his reflection in the blank screen - the bags under his eyes, his hair dishevelled and floppy. In a case, he looks completely unrecognisable, a shadow of the person he was just two weeks ago when Daniel had turned up at the apartment and hugged Max so tightly to the point where Max couldn’t breathe but didn’t make an effort to pull away. Max curls in on himself, pressing his sweater pawed hands to his face and breathing in and out shakily, feeling his chest constricting every single time he tries to drag the air back into his lungs and keep his heart beating steadily but it’s all to no use, he can feel his throat tightening and the familiar burn of regret slamming against his ribcage and his chest and fingers are shaking.

 

The worst part of it all, Dan’s news hasn’t even started to sink in yet, Max is still working on auto-pilot and he’s terrified of how he’s going to react when he finally realises that this isn’t all some sick joke that his mind has decided to play on him to gauge his reaction and torture him to the point of wanting to pack it all in. Closing his eyes, Max can see stars as he twists his fingers in the sleeves when the sound of his phone ringing and vibrating against the wooden floor causes him to flinch and jump up so quickly that he almost gives himself whiplash,

 

Dan’s name is flashing across the screen and Max slowly presses his thumb against the screen, dragging it across Dan’s name, feeling the rough cutting of his broken screen underneath. The phone continues to ring and Max stares at it with a frown, staring at it until his phone stops ringing and Max looks away, his heart feeling heavier against his chest, rattling away.

 

Shakily, Max pulls himself to his feet and feels the world around him wavering, it feels like his apartment is unstable as he takes carefully calculated but small steps to cross his apartment and reach the bathroom, his hands grip every surface that he can reach until his knuckles turn white and his hand slips when he initially tries to turn the light on, he tries again and immediately hisses at the bright light, shielding his eyes as he walks in and falls against the counter, taking deep breath after deep breath.

 

He almost doesn’t dare lift his head from where he’s lying against his arms to take in his appearance in the mirror - he’s aware he looks like the human embodiment of death. Steadily, Max grips the edge of the counter and lifts his head up, the back of his head feels as though somebody has taken a sledgehammer and is repeatedly pounding against Max’s skull. His eyes are bloodshot to the point where Max can barely even see, although, maybe that’s from the unshed tears in his eyes, his eyes are stinging as he stares into the mirror, frowning and relaxing and frowning once again.

 

Max turns the tap and the cold water gushes out so quickly that it splashes up and hits Max, well, hits his hoodie and soaks him just a little bit. Sighing, Max throws water in his face and tries to ignore how cold it feels against his burning cheeks, he repeats it a couple of times before his lips and cheeks start to hurt and he switches the tap off, staring down at his hands and taking deep breaths to try and steady his racing his heartbeat. Max stares at himself in the mirror, he’s a shadow of himself and it makes him feel nauseous when he takes in the bags (or rather, suitcases) under his eyes from the troubled few hours of sleep he’s had, artificial sleep, he couldn’t have turned his brain off long enough to get a decent couple of hours sleep for all the money in the world - his head pounding and coming up with a dozen theories - none of which he wants to be true when it comes to Daniel.

 

He’s so certain that it’s his fault, why wouldn’t it be? Even if this had been in place for months, Max knows he must have been the dagger that twisted and sealed the deal, ruined everything. He’s the reason he destroyed their partnership, maybe their friendship too - the single thought feels like a sucker punch to the stomach and Max isn’t sure how many more punches he can take before he collapses under the weight of the news. Sliding down to the floor again, Max sits with his legs crossed and his forehead pressed against the cabinet, swallowing and feeling like he’s being forced to swallow twenty razor blades, his throat raw and scratchy, he sniffles and drags his hand across his eyes, digging his knuckles in against his eyelids until he sees stars.

 

He stays like that for minutes, the sound of the city living and alive around him drowns out the null thumping in his ears until it doesn’t and the sound of his phone ringing travels from the living room where he left to the bathroom. A panic sets in his stomach at the thought of Dan calling him again and he’s still blatantly ignoring him but he hauls himself to his feet nevertheless and slowly, carefully walks through his apartment and stops at the couch, struggling to see his screen until he kneels down to pick it up,

 

Four missed calls from Victoria. Nothing new from Daniel.

 

Calling his sister back; Victoria answers immediately and Max winces at the-

 

“Max! Are you okay?! I just saw! Where are you? Have you talked to Dan-?”

 

“Vic, _Vic,_ can you talk quieter? I have a headache.” Max groans, already pressing the back of his hand against his forehead as he slumps on the couch, lying across the piece of furniture with his face half buried in one of the cushions.

 

“Are you okay?” Victoria asks him,

 

Max scoffs. “Yep,”

 

“Liar. Are you okay?” She repeats and she sounds so anxious, so worried and Max manages to feel ten times worse than he already does.

 

“What do you think?” He grits out,

 

Victoria ignores his tone of his voice. “Have you talked to him yet?”

 

Max wants to laugh but he just curls in on himself and gnaws on his bottom lip to keep from answering for a few seconds, he knows if he answers that question then he’s going to give the entire game away and he doesn’t think he can handle his sister’s sympathy at a time like this.

 

“Not yet.” He lies, it’s not too far off being a lie - they haven’t _actually_ talked and every attempt that it seems Daniel is making - Max is ignoring.

 

Max wouldn’t know what to say to him even if he tried, it’s not as though any attempts to change Dan’s mind are going to work, not now, even if Max was to swallow his pride and apologise for fucking up - he can’t take this back and he’s definitely not going to wake up and realise that this has all been a scarily realistic fever dream.

 

“He hasn’t even tried to explain it? That doesn’t sound like Dan...” Victoria trails off, “I know he might still be mad at you but I didn’t think he was that-”

 

“- He’ll call later. It’s fine, Vic. Different time zones remember?” Max defends,

 

“Oh yeah, sorry, are you sure you’re okay? This must have fucked you up, right?”

 

Max bites back the bout of laughter rising in his throat. _You have no idea._ “I suppose, I’m just, it’s a lot to take in right now.”

 

“Of course, of course.” Victoria sighs and Max’s chest tightens at how distraught she sounds, “I’m sorry, Max.”

 

Max heaves a sigh and lets his gaze wander over to the window as the sun streams through, “I know, but... it is what it is.”

 

And, god, those words fucking kill him inside.

 

“I’m fine, you know? I’ll be fine once the shock wears off-”

 

“Max.” Victoria interjects, “don’t lie to me, you think I don’t know you’re lying just because I can’t see you-” she scoffs “- but please, I know you better than anybody.”

 

Max sits up, jostling himself and feeling nauseous once again. “I promise, I’m fine.”

 

Victoria sighs and Max can picture her pinching the bridge of her nose and glaring at whatever is directly in front of her as she silently curses Max’s stubbornness. Their call is silent for around a minute and a half and Max nervously gnaws on his bottom lip, his insides flip upside down as he debates whether to tell his sister how he’s actually doing, whether that would make things worse or better and whether he should expect Victoria at his doorstep in a few hours time to knock some sense into him.

 

“Are you sure-?”

 

“Yes.” Max grumbles before regretting it and dragging a hand through his hair “I’m fine, I am, I promise I’m not just saying this.”

 

Victoria hesitates. “Okay,”

 

“I’ll call you later, okay?” Max asks, worrying his lip between his teeth before sighing and relenting. “After I’ve talked to Dan, I’ll call you.”

 

Max can’t see his sister but he’s almost sure she breathes out a sigh of relief at his words. In a strange sense it’s almost relaxing despite the fact that Max couldn’t muster up the energy to call Daniel for all the love and money in the world.

 

“As soon as you’ve talked to him.” Victoria corrects,

 

“Fine.” Max huffs, grinding his teeth before ending the call rather more abruptly than he would have liked to, throwing his phone to the far end of the couch and muffling his scream into the cushion his head was previously lain on.

 

He turns the TV on and puts on a movie that he has absolutely no interest in as his gaze travels across the room, memories of afternoons and evenings flooding back in a sick sense of wanting nothing more than for Max’s thoughts to deafen him until he can barely suppress the sob in his throat anymore, he balls his hands up into fists and takes three long, shaky, deep breaths to try and steady himself as he lies there pitifully and feels sorry for himself.

 

***

 

Over the course of the next two days; Daniel calls Max several times but most of the time he just texts and Max answers once - a simple _yes_ in reply to Dan’s text of whether he’s still alive. Victoria is constantly checking up on him and asking if they have talked yet - to which Max just groans and threatens to hang up.

 

It’s on day three that Max finally gets a grip and moves from where he’s been nesting on the couch watching TV shows that he’s seen a hundred times and finally has a shower. He’s unsteady on his feet as the scalding water hits him and the warmth works into his fingers and gets the blood properly flowing for the first time in - actually, Max can’t remember how long it’s been since his fingers didn’t have pins and needles.

 

The coolness of the tiles press against Max’s forehead when he drops his head against them, the water still beating down but he’s struggling to breathe again, his throat feeling tight as he balls his hand and presses his knuckles against the tiles, pulling the oxygen back into his lungs before he collapses under the spray of the shower.

 

It doesn’t help, it just angers him more, he’s furious at himself, embarrassed that he’s dealing with this entire situation so childishly, his chest is constricting as he slides down until he’s sitting with his back pressed against the wall and the water hitting his face at full force, reddening his cheeks and sticking his hair to his forehead. Breathing in and out as slowly as he can doesn’t help as much as he wishes it would, if anything, his breathing becomes more erratic to the point where he thinks he’s never going to get enough oxygen back into his lungs to be able to breathe properly.

 

The spray of the water starts to turn colder with every passing second but Max doesn’t dare try to clamber to his feet, all too well aware that his legs are more likely to buckle under him at any second than get him from the bathroom to his bedroom.

 

He resigns himself to sitting there, a thousand thoughts running through his head and tries not to shiver, even dragging himself from the shower to grab a towel and try to get the blood flowing in his fingers again seems like a monumental task from where’s sat.

 

His phone starts ringing and vibrates against the bathroom counter. Max has absolutely no idea why he brought it in here with him, he didn’t plan to use it - he’s barely used it in the last few days, can barely see anything on the screen through the cracks. He assumes it’s his sister checking up on him again so he doesn’t move. For half a second, he thinks it might be Dan but figuring out the time difference causes his head to ache to the point where Max would rather gauge his eyes out but it’s also enough for him to press his hands back against the slippery tiles and slowly but surely pull himself to his feet - it’s an odd sensation, feeling like you’re not in control of your own movements. Max feels like he’s trapped in a bubble of some kind, floating through his day with cynical thoughts rattling through his head as he just takes things hour by hour, trying to pull himself out of this anxiety-laden slump he’s found himself in.

 

The phone has stopped ringing by the time Max gets to it but even through the cracks - Dan’s name is visible. Max sighs and swipes the phone up from the counter, leaving the bathroom and managing to make it to his bedroom without collapsing into an exhausted heap on the carpet. Once he’s dressed again, he sits on the edge of his bed and holds his phone between his thumb and forefinger, he glances down at his FaceTime, thumb hovering over Dan’s contact, the last time that happened was a FaceTime call the night before Hungary, three in the morning - _If quizzes are quizzical, what are tests?_ Max wanted to wholeheartedly throttle him but he settled for hanging up, imagining Dan laughing to himself at Max’s annoyance at being woken up for _that._

 

Max nearly calls him but he’s bolting out of his bedroom before he can and jumping back onto the couch, _essentially_ his bed for the last few days, having barely been able to drag himself away from the piece of furniture for a few minutes at a time. Max calls Dan before he can talk himself out of it, wincing and curling in on himself as he waits for Dan to answer, his heart is beating out of his chest and he’s scared for a second that Dan’s going to be able to hear it.

 

“You’re the last person I expected to talk to tonight.”

 

Max half-expects Dan’s words to be laced with a thin sense of sarcasm and for him to look mildly amused but that isn’t possible, not now, not knowing how fragile things have spiralled down to between them in a matter of days. When Max does dare to snap his eyes to the screen, the sharp intake of breath from him is almost instinctive.

 

“You look like shit.” Max says before he can stop himself,

 

Daniel shrugs and it’s a half shrug that Max barely catches as he watches Dan drag his hand over his face and tousle his curls to even more of a mess than they are as usual. Max stays silent, swallowing thickly as his gaze flickers from his phone to his apartment floor which is a complete mess before back to the screen. The bags under Dan’s eyes are so large that for a second Max is tempted to call them suitcases, he doesn’t look like he’s had sleep in the last few days - at least they have something in common there.

 

“I don’t blame you for wanting to ignore me.” Daniel rasps, his throat sounding completely raw as he speaks and Max has to force himself to remain as emotionless as he feels. “You have every right to just hang up on me right now, you know that. Every right to hate me.”

 

Every word that tumbles from Dan’s lips has Max’s stomach twisting in such a painful way that keeling over and sobbing feels like the best outcome but Max can’t move, can’t even flex his fingers as he forces himself to stare at his phone, barely listening to what Dan’s telling him.

 

“I don’t hate you.”

 

Daniel stops abruptly, glancing back to his phone and meeting Max’s eyes which despite the fact that he’s struggling to hold back on what he truly wants to say, Max remains expressionless once more.

 

“That’s the worst thing, I don’t even blame you. _I did_ but what’s the point?” Max laughs bitterly, pulling at a loose thread in the hem of his t-shirt, returning to avoiding Daniel’s gaze, the intensity of it alone has Max wanting to crumble. “I can’t change what happened, you made your choice.” He doesn’t mean for the words to sound quite as venomous as they do and even Max is taken aback by how furious the undertone to his words sound.

 

Daniel clenches his jaw and flicks his gaze up to something above where his phone is. He looks desperate to say something to Max but he’s holding his tongue, resisting the urge to say something that he knows he’s going to regret.

 

“Dan-”

 

“Stop doing that. Stop trying to make me feel guilty about this. I _already_ feel so fucking guilty, you don’t even know how much!”

 

Max involuntarily flinches at the volume of Daniel’s words, his phone slipping from his grip as he scrambles to pick it up again, he can already feel the nausea settling in the pit of his stomach as he rushes to come up with a response, a counter argument, _anything._ He’s silent though, blinking rapidly and shrinking into himself as his grip on his phone becomes so tight that his knuckles turn white and shake at the pressure.

 

“I need to go.” Max rushes out without so much as a goodbye as he hangs up their call and tosses his phone to the far end of the couch, pulling the twisted blanket from the couch around himself and lying down with his eyes screwed so tightly shut that he can see shapes.

 

***

 

The gym looks daunting from the doorway, Max leaning against the side restlessly, his fingers twitching and his eyes flickering over every piece of equipment as he tries to figure out what’s the easiest thing to start on - not trusting himself to be able to do anything long enough without collapsing in a heap from exhaustion.

 

A niggling voice in the back of his mind tells him to turn around and go home, it’s early, the sun only just out and he can easily try to sleep for another few hours but he forces himself to step inside, already regretting it but not enough to spin and turn around without a glance back. He doesn’t mind working out on his own but mixed with the ridiculous hour to make sure that nobody disturbs him - he misses Dan.

 

 _Okay,_ he misses deliberately choosing a piece of equipment that’s behind Dan’s and watching him. _No._ Max spins and walks away from the gym and drags a hand through his hair as he walks outside, the early morning breeze hits his shoulders the second that the door swings open and it’s refreshing despite the fact that Max chokes up at the sheer feel of it against his face.

 

He tries to come up with an argument for just going back to his nest of blankets on the couch but nothing immediately springs to mind and he settles for going for a run, promising himself that it can’t be _as_ bad as he’s making it out to be inside his head - though, he’s unsure whether he’d trust a damn thing that’s flashing through his head lately.

 

Max starts running and he just manages to get to the first corner before his breath comes out in harsh uncontrollable wheezes but he tries to ignore the way his chest burns at the sensation, pushing his conscious thoughts to the back of his mind and instead settling for the reasoning that he’s been cooped up for so long since he got back that he’s just finding it uneasy to settle back into a normal rhythm. Max pushes harder, speeding up until his thighs are crying out in protest every time Max’s feet hit the ground with every step.

 

Max clears his mind, no thoughts about driving, no thoughts about Dan, no thoughts about the move or their abruptly ended conversation the night before. There is nothing on his mind, nothing but the ache of his limbs and the throbbing rush of blood in his ears. With every pounding slap of his feet against the pavement, the blood continues to slosh around in his head and ears, echoing wholly and causing a dizzying sense of panic to nestle in the back of his head with every looping corner he takes as the sun continues to rise over the horizon and light up the day before his eyes.

 

He doesn’t see it coming.

 

Max doesn’t see the slight curve in the pavement slab and keeps running, his right foot hitting it as he crosses it sending him flying across the pavement, tumbling until he crashes down against the ground - startling him. Max just about manages to catch himself on his hands, his palms pressing down against small stones as he fights back the urge to throw up his entire stomach contents. Max rolls onto his back struggling for breath, gasping like a fish out of water. As always, there is a fraction of a second as his heart struggles to deliver the next beat, breath gone from his lungs and dark spots dancing before his eyes, impairing the steely blue of the early morning sky. His eyes fall shut of their own accord as he fights to drag the air back into his lungs, his chest aching at the forcefulness of the sharp breathes that he’s taking, trying to even out his breathing but rather unsuccessfully.

 

It’s only when Max reopens his eyes and sees the blood dripping onto his shorts does he notice the graze on his elbow and the cuts on both of his legs, blood seeping down his legs from every direction causing him to involuntarily shiver.

 

The nauseous feeling that’s followed him around for the last week comes back with a vengeance and this time Max can’t stop himself from emptying the contents of his stomach, slumping against the nearest wall afterwards. He feels completely disoriented as his fingers start to shake with every glimpse at his legs and the blood rushing but also the blood that’s starting to dry against his legs.

 

He doesn’t know how long he stays there. It could be ten minutes or it could be two hours but all he does know is the thought of dragging himself to his feet and limping home seems like a colossal task. The sun starts beating down sometime during those minutes, the heat hitting Max’s arms and face like a welcomed relief from the wind that it had replaced. Closing his eyes again, Max can feel himself falling but he resists it, tries to keep his head steady and his thoughts coherent but the thought of just falling completely and letting every remaining anxiety disappear is something that he’s never been so desperate to grasp onto, the battle that occurs in his head is something that despite it all, Max wouldn’t even attempt to wish on his worst enemy.

 

The irony being that he, himself, is his own worst enemy.

 

Sighing, Max slowly pulls himself to his feet, wincing at the shakiness and the stinging from the cuts in his legs. He places his entire body weight against the wall at first, having never felt an inability to move like this before, if not just the physical pain - the emotional pain that’s been harbouring since Hungary plagues his every jarred movement.

 

It takes him a good ten minutes to limp home, stopping for breathers every few steps and shaking his legs to get the blood flowing again but it’s seemingly to no avail because all it does is aggravate the pain that’s already causing him immense distress. Throwing open the door to his apartment has never felt better as Max limps inside, pressing the door closed and dropping his forehead against it, breathing in and out slowly.

 

The rest of the morning falls by in a blur - Max not even registering half of the things that he does - considering all he does is shower and watch mindless TV - it should concern him a lot more than it actually does. He pulls the hood of Dan’s hoodie up and over his head, not taking a second to care that he’s crossing into pathetic territory. He cocoons himself into the blanket further and flicks through the different TV channels waiting for something to spark his interest but nothing does. He resigns himself to just turn it off when he hears his phone from the end of the couch where he tossed it the night before.

 

Max ignores it at first and the call falls dead. He’s just about to return to channel surfing when it starts again and with a heaved sigh, Max grabs it and sighs at Dan’s name but he still answers it.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey.”

 

The awkward silence that ensues the greetings carries on for minutes and Max desperately tries to keep his breathing level and not overwork himself into a state of panic and overthinking the longer it takes for the conversation to continue.

 

“You know, we _do_ need to talk about this properly.” Daniel tries, his voice is slow and Max’s chest clenches at the caution in his tone, “Max?”

 

“Yeah, _yeah,_ okay.” Max forces out, dropping his head back against the back of the couch and twisting his fingers into Dan’s hoodie.

 

“Max?” Daniel calls out after Max falls quiet for a few moments, he almost sounds resigned at the sharp intake of breath that Max takes in response. “You still with me?”

 

Max wants to laugh but it gets stuck in his throat and he can do little more than swallow down a pang of hurt that slams against his chest at the concern in Dan’s voice, the fact that after everything that’s happened and everything that hasn’t been said - Dan still wants something to fucking to do with him - whether it’s just for keeping up appearances or not.

 

“I don’t want to do this, Dan.” Max sighs after another lull in conversation, “I don’t want to do it like this.” He admits, his voice falling to barely above a whisper.

 

“Yeah, _yeah,_ I guessed.” Dan mumbles, exhaling a deep sigh. “It’s not exactly ideal, is it? I _need_ to see you and talk, maybe I should just come back.”

 

“No!” Max suddenly exclaims, the sharp rawness tears from the back of his throat as he jolts upright. “I mean, I - um.” Max fumbles for a reason to back up why Dan coming back would be the _worst_ idea in the world.

 

The only idea that comes to mind is that Max doesn’t think he’s capable of swallowing down his feelings anymore, everything is so far gone that Max isn’t sure he would be able to stop himself from flat out telling Dan he loves him the second that he sees him again - there’s a cruel irony hidden there somewhere.

 

“Come here then.” Daniel’s voice cuts through Max’s momentary panic,

 

The suggestion catches Max so far off-guard that for a second he thinks Dan’s joking but unlike with any joke, no laughter follows it.

 

“What?”

 

“Come here.” Dan repeats, “if, for _whatever_ reason me coming back would be such a bad idea, come here. Would you?”

 

And Dan sounds so worried that Max isn’t sure he’d be able to say no if he tried, so he doesn’t. He resigned himself the second that Dan suggested it, the rational side of his brain screaming that this can’t go well going completely unheard whilst the irrational side just screams _Dan_ in a pitiful sense of Max missing him far more than he would care to openly admit and maybe, just _maybe_ seeing him might make this easier. Though, Max doubts that very much.

 

“ _Yeah, okay_.”

 

“You’ll come here?”

 

Max almost laughs at the surprise in Dan’s voice and finds himself nodding before he realises that his teammate can’t see him.

 

“Yeah, Dan, I’ll come to _you._ ”  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am... SO SORRY... just, in advance before reading this chapter... I am so sorry for more torture and more angst than I possibly intended, also for the long, long wait between these chapters but between a lot of family drama currently and having to rewrite this chapter 4/5 times before I got something I was happy with... we have come to this. again, this is fiction and everything I write is just for the drama... things get resolved, it's just a mess and I'm so sorry... things do get better. I swear. okay that's enough of me panicking and please, just, idk, if you can enjoy this mess...

Max is restless for the entire flight.

 

He barely registers anything around him except for the way his hands are shaking profusely despite the fact that Max has them pressed to his thighs in a pitiful attempt to calm himself down. Max wishes it was nervous excitement, a bubbling feeling settling in the pit of his stomach at seeing Dan again, that Dan _wants_ to see him - regardless of the reasoning but he can’t. He feels physically sick at the thought of how horrifically this _confrontation_ because that’s what it is, is going to go. That Daniel is somehow going to look into his eyes and realise that he’s as fucked up as Max knows he is, that he’s pathetic for letting things spiral to this level. 

 

He stares out of the window, forcing himself to stare out into the sky, a blue sky, no clouds, no dullness - a stark contrast to the mess of feelings that are clouding his own head in a sick sense of pain.

 

Sinking down in his seat, Max twists uncomfortably and just about manages to swallow down the uncomfortable whine that rises in his throat at being sat like this for so long. Max pulls at the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing, pulling at the strings, messing with the hood, wanting nothing more than to screw his eyes shut and beg for this flight to be over. 

 

Max sighs once more, pulling the sleeve up and starting to scratch at his arm, fingers shaking as he drags his blunt nails across his arm, trying to distract himself from the anxious thoughts racing through his head. 

 

 _Dan. Dan. He hates you. You’re a fucking idiot._ _It’s not my fault I’ve got the better fucking chance at getting a World Championship._

 

Max almost cries at the sharp shooting pain in the back of his head as he balls his hands into fists and wills himself not to start crying, blinks the tears that are rapidly filling his eyes away. Now isn’t the time to have a breakdown, he hasn’t even touched down in Australia yet. 

 

Curling up into a ball, Max pushes his face against the back of his seat and screws his eyes shut so tightly that he begins to see stars forming in his eyelids as he crosses his arms over his chest. He compacts himself into the smallest he can to hide away from a packed plane, to drown out the engine, to ignore the mindless chatter, to stop his thoughts from attacking every brain cell that he has. 

 

He’s been fine for the day or two leading up to this, pushing all the thoughts out of his mind just trying to focus on the fact that this is a good thing, that it’s not going to single-handedly destroy him to his breaking point. Twisting, Max sighs and stares at the window, pulling at the longer strands of his hair before trying to fluff it up again having matted down from where he’s been slumped in his seat for hours.

 

Victoria had been skeptical when Max told her where he was going, so many things were left unsaid during _that_ conversation but Max at least remembers _‘it’s about fucking time you two talked.’_

 

In a way, it should be enough for Max to calm the fuck down but all it does is numb him, pierce the knife that’s been there for _far_ too long against his chest in, waiting for the final straw, the final word, the wrong look for the knife to start twisting. 

 

The knife has been there for years, the tip grazing Max’s chest with every fail, with every sharp, disappointed, humiliating insult that his dad threw at him as a child. There has never been something strong enough to break through and stab him, not yet- 

 

Daniel leaving is the closest thing and he didn’t even do that to spite Max… at least Max doesn’t think so but every coherent thought that he’s had in the last few days has been jumbled up and distorted into something so damaging. 

 

Max’s stomach twists when something nudges the back of his seat and he automatically drops his head into his arms and screws his eyes shut willing the flight to be over, he’s never been bad on flights - usually he’s out like a light and sleeping under the thrum and the sound of the engine but with everything that’s attacking his head, he’s never felt so uncomfortable. 

 

If he’s being completely honest; Max doesn’t know how he’s going to react upon seeing Daniel and perhaps that is what frightens him the most. He’s never been scared of seeing Daniel, they’ve _never_ been like that and the bridge that’s between them, the obvious distance that’s here now is brand new territory and if Max isn’t sure how he’s going to react to this - he doesn’t want to know how Daniel’s going to react upon seeing him. Phone calls with long periods of silence can’t open any doors for Max to know how Daniel’s feeling except the fact that they still haven’t resolved anything since after Hungary. 

 

Almost instinctively, Max presses his thumb against his pulse on his left wrist, pressing down until it hurts, screwing his eyes shut and feeling the sides of his head throb with the ever-present migraine he seems to have lately. 

 

The feel of Max twisting his arm so much that it clicked when Daniel grabbed him, the fury in his eyes and coursing through his veins- the momentary loss of concentration, the regret, the panic in Dan’s eyes that all amounted to barely a second before Max blew up on him. How Max was so beyond the realms of fury that he wanted nothing more than to slam his fist into Dan’s face has Max jolting upright in fear, staring at his hands, skin paler than it’s ever looked before- a sickly hue about it. 

 

Max’s eyes blur with a flurry of unshed tears, his hands shaking to the point where it’s too painful to try and still them as everything keeps flashing back to that moment in Hungary, to where everything had fallen apart. 

 

Max honestly wonders what the fuck he’s doing going to Australia after all of this. 

 

He hides himself as soon as he’s touched down, the same hoodie he’s worn for days, possibly even a week and a half now feels heavy on his shoulders, it smells awful too but deep in the collar, if Max breathes in hard enough he still catches a wave of Dan’s cologne that send his head spinning in all the wrong ways. Every step feels heavier than the last and Max can feel his head pounding every time his foot hits the ground underneath, his bag weighs heavily on his shoulder and he debates just dragging it across the floor instead.

 

He’s barely outside when he stops against the wall and feels his chest tightening, barely able to catch his breath as he covers his face with his arm, feeling his shoulders heave and the urge to vomit up his entire stomach contents even though he’s barely eaten or drank anything in the last few days. Max coughs and splutters and feels his legs buckle underneath him as he fights against everything pulling him down to keep him on his feet. Max waits for minutes, maybe five, maybe ten but he just can’t pull away from the wall and only just manages to lift his head long enough to rest his head against the coolness of the brick outside, the small gesture managing to ease the drumming in his head.

 

Max struggles to pull his phone out of his pocket, the current time blurring to a mangled mess of white on his screen as he fumbles to unlock it- a text from Daniel sits in his messages from a little over twenty minutes ago,

 

**[Daniel Ricciardo]**

 

_Tell me when you get here._

 

Max’s thumb hovers over his keyboard and he taps out a simple _I’m here_ but deletes it just as quickly as he struggles to push himself to hit the second button so he just leaves the message read and slips his phone back into his pocket. Max shakes as he starts to walk, trying to regain the feeling in his legs whilst trying to formulate what to say to Daniel in other words that _what the fuck have you done? Why would you leave me?_

 

Nothing comes to mind and Max’s heart breaks at having to have this conversation with Dan, having to sit and listen to the reasons why Daniel’s leaving him. He has to listen and not interrupt, he has to not turn this into a fight, he’s not going to be able to start shouting when Daniel says something he doesn’t like- he’s not going to be able to change his mind anyway, it’s a done deal after all.

 

Max still feels his chest tightening and clenching to the point where he thinks he’s on the verge of having a heart attack at twenty years old, he slams his arm across his chest and tries to breathe through the agonisingly restricting pain across his entire chest. He has to stop walking once more and just wait until he stops feeling as though he’s going to pass out. Sliding down the nearest wall, Max pulls his phone out of his pocket and tries to steady his shaking hand as he calls Dan, he’ll answer, if only for Max to know he’s there to try and calm how unstable he feels. 

 

“Hey, Max?”

 

Max just struggles to catch his breath as he holds his phone against his ear, his fingers trembling with how tightly they’re gripping the edge of his phone to stop it from slipping and crashing to the ground. 

 

“Max…” Dan trails off, he sounds unsure as though he’s holding it together as terribly as Max has been doing but Max knows it’s bullshit, he’s not handling this at all. “You okay?” 

 

“... I’m here, I’m- I’ll be there… soon. I think.” 

 

Max hangs up before Daniel can even reply to him and he just stares down at his smashed phone but still just stays sitting down. He holds his phone by the top right corner and drops his face until it’s burrowed deep inside the collar of Dan’s hoodie, eyes closed and he tries to pull the oxygen back into his lungs and try and calm himself down. If he even steps up in front of Daniel in this state- he knows he’s just going to fall apart and he’s not about to let Daniel have it that easily, he’s got a list of questions that rush around his head when he’s alone and he wishes he had the voice to just _ask_ them without thinking about how the answers are going to crush him. 

 

Max fiddles with the sleeves of the hoodie, scratching his nails against the cuff, pulling at a loose thread here and a looser thread there until his chest and shoulders stop heaving and he can stand up without feeling overly nauseous. Max pulls the hood up and lets it fall over his eyes, he rubs his eyes as he walks a few steps to gather his composure before deciding he needs to stop playing around and go and talk to Daniel.

 

Whether that’s a good idea or not remains to be seen and quite honestly, Max is dreading to find out.

 

***

 

Max drops his bag to the ground as he stands outside Daniel’s place, closing his eyes and feeling himself starting to panic. Everything up to now has felt like a fucking holiday compared to how paralysed in terror he feels at the prospect of Daniel opening his door and sparking Max in the jaw for everything the two of them have been through in the past two weeks. Max fiddles with the strap of his back and looks back over his shoulder, knowing that he could just walk away and leave everything unanswered, leave it to ruin the last few months of them being teammates, fuck up the team dynamics more than they already are. 

 

“Max.” 

 

Max flinches at the voice, snapping his eyes back front. Daniel stands at his door, he almost looks surprised and whether that’s because Max has actually followed through with coming and is standing in front of him or because Max looks so _physically_ destroyed by what the last couple of weeks have thrown at them. 

 

“Max?” Daniel tries again, wincing at the way his voice cracks, folding his arms over his chest defensively whilst Max fights against himself to move even an inch. 

 

Max sighs and pulls his hood down, fluffing up his hair as best that he can before dragging his feet and his bag over to the door and stopping in front of Daniel, barely able to look his teammate in the eye and when Daniel moves his arms- Max flinches and braces himself for the impact of getting punched but all that happens is Daniel grabs him and holds him, fingers grabbing a handful of the hood of the hoodie and he just stays still whilst Max fights to release his arm enough to hug him.

 

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ, Max. Next time don’t let me think you’ve fucking died.” 

 

If Max could react he would probably start laughing but he’s frozen, he just pats Daniel’s shoulder until Dan lets him go and Max can stumble backwards, shrinking in on himself as Daniel narrows his eyes at Max, reaching forward and wrapping one of the hoodie strings around his finger-

 

Max feels embarrassed that he didn’t realise that Dan would _recognise_ his own item of clothing but he doesn’t apologise for wearing it and Daniel doesn’t say anything about it. 

 

“We need to talk.” 

 

Daniel scowls at Max’s words before shrugging and gesturing for Max to go through. Max does as shown and Daniel closes the front door, dropping his head against it and sighing, bracing himself before turning around and following Max. Max hangs awkwardly in the kitchen, looking around trying his hardest to hide his face from view.

 

Time passes in the beats of their heart- Max’s pounding and Daniel’s catching up the second that he crosses into the kitchen with a defensive frown and his arms folded again. Max keeps his eyes trained to the floor and taps his fingers against the edge of the kitchen counter with every rush of blood in his ears and how he involuntarily flinches as he thinks about the inevitable end to what he’s insisting is a showdown but in reality is far from it. 

 

Daniel leans against the counter and stares down at his hands, pursing his lips as the silence continues, Max’s heavy breathing and willing down the want to just turn away and leave before the silence is broken and everything they already comes out into the open and destroys what remains of their fragile friendship. 

 

Daniel’s leaving no matter what Max says, the least he can try to do is salvage their friendship before he leaves. 

 

“... Why?” 

 

“Why what-? Straight in with it, huh.” Daniel almost laughs, he had absolutely no idea what Max was going to say to him but somehow getting straight into the reason for the switch wasn’t high up on the list. 

 

Max doesn’t brave a look up, he just focuses on the way his knuckles are turning white and how his fingers are trembling and his heart palpitating with every second that passes by and every second that Daniel doesn’t say anything more. 

 

 _“Why_ are you leaving?” Max forces out, scowling and jerking forward to grip the edge of the counter when he feels lightheaded. 

 

“I… just am. New team, time for a change.” 

 

“Oh, that’s fucking bullshit.” Max spits, snapping his gaze towards Daniel and glaring at him, blurry eyed from exhaustion as he sways backwards. “You’re just going to stand there and expect me to believe _that’s_ the reason, am I a child to you?”

 

Daniel smiles snarkily but doesn’t bite. Max rolls his eyes and the silence engulfs the pair once more but the question remains on the tip of Max’s tongue. Max has his own theories, a good fucking number of them too and each one despite being entirely hypothetical until proven gets more and more ridiculous with the lack of sleep that Max is getting- they scare him to the point of wanting to beg Daniel to never release the real reason why. 

 

Max can only bite his tongue for so long though and he pushes himself away from the counter and turns his back on his teammate, pressing the base of his palm against his forehead and tries to ease the migraine, the blinding pain in the front of his forehead that sending him beyond being able to think without wanting to cry out in sheer agony. 

 

“Just… tell me why the _fuck_ you’re leaving, Daniel.” 

 

Daniel jumps at the brokenness of Max’s voice, the raspiness that’s been replaced by something that sounds like he’s swallowed shards of glass. The pain, the _heartache_ in his teammate’s voice has Daniel dropping his head to the counter and exhaling a sigh so deep that his chest throbs at the sensation and he feels like he’s suffered a sucker punch. Max turns around and he’s not scowling, his face is a blank sheet and that in all honesty scares the living hell out of Dan, realising now that no matter _what_ he says to Max- it’s not going to fix what his move has already destroyed. 

 

“I’m leaving because I have to, you were right… in Hungary. The plans they have are for you, not me.” 

 

Max shudders, 

 

_It's not my fault I've got the better fucking chance at getting a World Championship! They're doing the right thing._

 

Twenty words. Twenty words out of every word that Max has ever said and he regrets every single one in that moment, more than he has already and ever thought he could. 

 

Daniel looks resigned to defeat and the nausea builds in Max’s throat until he can’t breathe and he rushes out of the kitchen and using his sense of muscle memory he finds the bathroom and falls to his knees just in time to throw up. He heaves and feels his headache intensifying so badly that Max wants to curl into a ball and cry. 

 

Daniel doesn’t move from the kitchen to check on him and it takes Max ten minutes, perhaps even fifteen to lift himself from the floor to flush and clean his face up but the crushing devastation on his face and in his glassy eyes remains and that’s something that no amount of cold water can fix. 

 

“You okay?” Dan asks him, holding out a bottle of water for Max to take when he makes his way back into the kitchen.

 

Max takes the water and offers a measly shrug in response to the question, he’s so far from okay it’s funny. Taking a few swigs of water, Max leans against the counter and fiddles with the top. Another question weighs on his shoulders, a harder question to ask and hear the answer to but to both of them it’s the most obvious one that is yet to be asked. 

 

It’s the question that can single handedly demolish everything but Max has to ask it anyway, he forces himself to ask it and he feels the hatred, the sheer _fucking hatred_ he has for himself as the words clumsily tumble from his lips. 

 

“So, the team fucked up but what _made_ you leave… the money?” 

 

Daniel slams his fist down on the counter at the words and laughs hollowly, the sound resonating off the walls of the kitchen as he glides his tongue across his bottom lip and looks at Max with a look of amusement mixed with insolence as Max stands up straight or as straight as he can despite feeling like there’s a ten tonne weight balanced unevenly on his shoulders. 

 

“Of course that’s what you fucking ask. I don’t know why I didn’t see that coming.” 

 

“Tell me it’s not true then.” Max bites, rolling up the sleeves of Daniel’s hoodie and raising his eyebrows in challenge to him, 

 

“It’s not true.” Daniel draws out with an undisputed lacing of sarcasm in his voice, rolling his eyes. 

 

Max swallows thickly and turns around again, taking slow, carefully calculated steps across the kitchen and wringing his hands together nervously before coming to an abrupt stop and scratching the back of his neck, digging his nails into the skin until it hurts. 

 

“So… it’s me.” 

 

It’s spoken so quietly, barely audible above the sound of Max’s breathing but Daniel hears it because of course he fucking does. 

 

Max feels the sense of enervation catching up with him and he begins to feel himself sinking to the ground and just feeling his eyes flutter between open and closed every second, struggling to keep himself awake. 

 

“It has to be me…” he manages to force out amongst it all, “if you didn’t leave for the money, you left because it’s me. I’m your teammate and a shitty one at that. You’re leaving because of me and I fucking knew it all along.” 

 

“You can be a fucking kid at times, yeah.” 

 

Max laughs bitterly, rubbing his cheeks and staring at the wall in front of him from where he’s sitting on the floor.

 

“Go on then, admit it. Tell me I’m the reason you’re leaving, I knew I fucked it in Hungary.” Max pushes, struggling back to his feet, 

 

He’s nearing breaking point, he’s sure he is, every word that Daniel says feels like a punch to the stomach, hearing him, hearing Daniel confirm every single one of Max’s theories were true- that he’s the catalyst that pushed him towards Renault and he feels himself spiralling down to breaking point faster than he thought he would. 

 

“No, I’m not going to admit anything because whatever the fucking hell is going on in your head is a joke, just accept that. Stop trying to push me Max.” Daniel growls, stepping closer to Max, 

 

Unbeknownst to Max, the sudden flurry of confidence that courses through his veins takes his teammate’s words as a challenge and he stands up straight despite the shuddery breaths that he takes, shoving his hands into the pockets of the hoodie and flicking his gaze to Daniel. 

 

“No, I want you to tell me and I want you to stop lying to me and stop lying to yourself, for once, just admit that I’m a terrible teammate.” Max pushes and lord knows why he is doing it either because he _knows_ the second that Daniel admits that Max is right- it’s going to send him down a spiralling road to the end of the line. “I want you to say it.” 

 

Daniel raises his eyebrows and takes a step back, laughing to himself. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you so _desperate_ for me to cause a fight? Why? Did you bang your head… because _this-”_ Daniel gestures to the gap between them, the evident gap that seems a lot more than it has been for months and he meets Max’s eyes with confusion and resentment flashing through them. “Is fucked up for you. I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve but I’m not falling for it, Max.” 

 

Max swallows thickly and shakes his head. “Just fucking tell me!” He cries and screams in agony when a blinding shot of pain shoots through the back of his head, dizzying and seeing stars, Max feels the tears blur his vision as he clutches his head and keeps his head down towards the ground. “Tell me,” he pleads, 

 

Daniel panics, he’s _never_ seen Max this pressured, this hurt, looking seconds away from passing out on his kitchen floor but he can’t move, he can’t even speak for how Max is writhing from whatever internal torment is pressing down on him. 

 

Still, Daniel takes the wrong decision and gives Max what he asked for, 

 

“You’re whiny, immature and you hardly ever take responsibility for yourself or your fucks up during the race- Jesus Christ!” Daniel shouts, throwing his arms up and chuckling to himself, “do you know _how_ many times I’ve had to defend you, shrug off your fucking mistakes to keep harmony, half the time I don’t even get to deal with my own feelings because the entire time we’ve been teammates… _everything_ has to be about you. You wanted it, so here it fucking is, I can’t wait for the end of Abu Dhabi and for us to _not_  to be fucking teammates anymore.” 

 

Daniel stops, his palms pressed flat against the counter and he’s trying to drag the oxygen back in his lungs, he doesn’t look up, can’t risk it because he _knows,_ he shouldn’t have let himself be pushed so easily by Max in whatever state he’s in. 

 

Max stares at him, cheeks pale and his lips parted ever so slightly, shakily folding his arms over his chest defensively, unable to move as Daniel’s words ring in his ears- loud and booming, taunting him. 

 

“Thought so.” Max chokes out, coughing to cover up the feeling of his chest aching, the heaviness in the pit of his stomach, dealing with the confirmation of _everything_ he’s known the entire time. “Only a few months left.” 

 

Max makes a move to walk out of the kitchen but Daniel reaches out to stop him, grabbing his wrist and yanking him back, pulling too harshly at Max’s wrist and catching him off balance- Max struggling to keep himself upright and twisting his arm before crying out at the twinge in his wrist. 

 

“You’re not leaving like this. Not in this state, what the fuck… you’ll get yourself killed.” Daniel tries,

 

Max struggles to pull his wrist out of Daniel’s grip, muttering that he’s fine and he tries to pull once more. Daniel holds on tighter and it only drives Max further to try and jerk his wrist out of Daniel’s hand- pulling too hard at the same time Daniel lets go and only able to stand in shock as his fist makes impact with Daniel’s jaw knocking him backwards. 

 

“What the fuck, Max?!” 

 

Max flinches, dropping his arm back to his side and staring at Daniel in horror as he clutches his jaw. 

 

“I… I need to get out of here. Don’t fucking follow me.” Max mutters before storming out of the kitchen, through the hallway but stopping at the front door. “ _Please,_ follow me.” He mumbles to himself but footsteps don’t chase after him. 

 

Max pulls open the door and slams it shut behind him leaving his friendship with Daniel in tatters and his heart broken, leaving Daniel clutching his jaw and sinking to the floor of his kitchen with tears in the corners of his eyes. 

 

Leaving everything. Leaving each other.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr!](https://hoewedeshummels.tumblr.com)


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